


Made of Scars

by SwagPetyr



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwagPetyr/pseuds/SwagPetyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petyr finds himself in his room after being stabbed. He shows her his scar and he tells her the story behind how he got it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pweh! My very first submission to this website. This is just a quick one-shot. Nothing more. I'm sorry. I wish I could write more as well, but if people like it, I'll be willing to take a crack at more fanfic especially for this couple :)
> 
> This is PART 1 of the one-shot, though. Sorry, but hopefully I can post the second part soon. :) I just wanted something out there, though.

Lady Sansa was ignoring him as usual. She was trying so hard to be loyal to her brother – _half-brother_. The supposed ‘king of the North.’ Yet Petyr knew and Sansa knew that if it weren’t for Sansa’s quick call for aid, there would be no king of the North. He’d probably have an arrow shot between his eyes and buried underneath hundreds of bodies that gave his life for him. Or maybe Ramsey might have wanted to feed him to his dogs.

But he was impressed to hear that at least he had given his lady the last kill. How Ramsey deserved it as well. He had promised to protect her and he _broke_ that promise. When Sansa told him what he had done, there was anger boiling inside him. He walked away from her that day, fist and teeth clenched. A tear almost left his eye as he kept thinking about how such a man could do such terrible things to her body. How he had hit her and cut her and raped her. Left her body with bruises and scars she wasn’t supposed to have. The very idea tortured his thoughts and filled him with an emotion he hadn’t felt in a while. Remorse.

Maybe he deserved it, though. He was the one who gave Sansa to him. If he had been more thorough with his research and knew more about the boy, he would have never handed her over to him. But he did. The deed was done, and he would never forgive himself for it. But he could at least try making it up to her.

Sansa was the oldest living daughter of Catelyn and Ned Stark. The north was rightfully hers. After all she had been through, she deserved to be wardeness of the North. Not her brother. And no matter how supportive she was trying to be for Jon, he knew that she knew this, too. He could see it in her facial expression. The way her smile faded when he looked at him. How her shoulders would slump and her mouth would part slightly as if to sigh. She just didn’t want to admit it.

He had to convince her somehow, though. Show her that he is her ally, and he is. Everything he has done so far was for that promise he made to her. _The North will be yours_ , he told her. And he wasn’t going to give up now.

Sansa was walking with Jon down the hall. Their arms were intertwined as they smiled and laughed. Sansa stared ahead to see Petyr standing there with his hands in his pockets and frown on his face. He looked at her for a second before rolling his eyes away. And again, like always, Sansa’s smile faded.

Jon felt tense around Littlefinger. He didn’t trust him, especially with Sansa. They had some sort of… relationship… he wasn’t entirely aware of yet. Sansa had told him that she didn’t trust him as well, but there still seemed to be _something_ between them. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he felt as if it would inappropriate to stay, even though he really didn’t want to.

Jon smiled down at his sister and said, “I have to meet with Lord Glover. We can chat in the morning. For now, it’s been a long night, and you should have your rest.”

Sansa nodded in agreement, flashing him one last smile. But it was fake, Petyr knew. Before walking off, Jon eyed Petyr with a threatening glaze, telling him that if he tried anything with Sansa, he would have his head. Petyr wanted to scoff.

When Jon was gone, Sansa walked on ahead, past him, going towards her chambers. Petyr followed her. He couldn’t lose her now. “Sansa,” he said.

She didn’t respond.

“Sansa,” he said again.

Again, no response. She would not allow herself to hear what her former protector had to say. If it were business, he could bring it up to her brother, but he had no business with her.

“Will you wait, please?” he pleaded. His dark cloak was swooshing in the air as he followed her. She walked faster.

_I will ignore Lord Baelish_ , she told herself. _I will ignore Littlefinger. I will ignore…_

“SANSA,” he yelled. His voice echoed throughout the whole hall. His hands grabbed her arms tightly and rotated her around. Then there was the sound of a large gasp as a man dressed in all black thrust his dagger into Petyr’s lower waist. Sansa’s eyes were wide as she stared down into Petyr’s face. His mouth was agape and his eyes full of sadness.

Petyr had only seen the man at the last second. But he knew who he was targeting. And without thinking, he just ran and grabbed her and rotated her around, and then there was that all familiar feel of steel in flesh he had felt all those years ago.

“Shit,”  the assassin said and ran off.

Memories of that duel flashed in his mind, and then he looked up at Sansa. He chuckled softly and told her, “I really am an idiot after all.” He slowly fell to the floor. The blood felt sticky against his skin and stained his dark clothes. Sansa’s scream was the last that he heard that night.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the one-shot. Where Petyr has just been stabbed and Sansa is tending to him. They talk about his scars and even mention a bit of her's.

The last thing Petyr remembered was the feel of cold metal ripping through clothes and skin. The assassin that was meant to kill Sansa – his face was dark and hooded. Sansa’s eyes were wide with shock as she took in what happened. A large scream filled the hall before he lost consciousness.

Now, he was on a soft bed in a dark room lit with half melted candles. A sting of pain made his eyes shoot open wide, and there was a woman’s hand pressing a wet cloth down where his wound was. He gasped as he realized that he was alive tried to sit up but he was pressed back down on the bed. Sansa stared into his gray-green eyes.

He would have smirked at this small scene… if not for the pain stinging in his waist.

“You must not move, my lord,” she said. “The maester said that the wound wasn’t fatal but still deep.”  

He looked down at the cloth. The surface of it was stained red with his blood. But he thought he wasn’t bleeding as badly as he was before. Still, Sansa needed to sew the wound together and patch it up to prevent him suffering even more blood lost.

“If the maester was here and told you that, where is he now? Why isn’t he attending to me?” Petyr asked.

“I told him to go,” she replied. “I wanted to take care of you myself.”

He chuckled. “Protect me?” he asked, amused but also in disbelief. She didn’t reply afterwards and stared away from his eyes. She was wiping the blood off ever so gently. Just watching her was almost relaxing.

Petyr remembered only being terrified once. And that was when Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood had called him in for questioning. After he _impulsively_ kissed Sansa and killed her aunt Lysa. And he didn’t feel bad for a second for pushing her out the moon door, but then Royce and Waynwood became suspicious of him. It was only natural, though. Days after being married to her. Still, he wanted to curse himself for being such a damn fool for losing control just once and letting himself get caught. And when they called Sansa in as a witness, he thought he was done for. What he did to Lysa would be done to him. He pictured his body dropping possibly hundreds of feet down, his body breaking as it hit those rocks. But then…

She saved him. Lied to their faces, and what a marvelous actress she was, he thought. The way her voice cracked and her tears shed as she gave them the same lie he told them. That Lysa had committed suicide due to her mad sense and jealousy. And when Lady Waynwood stood up to hug and comfort her, the innocent mask came off. For the first time, he saw the eyes of a player.

But this wasn’t the Eyrie and they weren’t surrounded by lords and ladies, needing to keep up a certain image. Here, in this room, wasn’t Alayne and Littlefinger. It was Petyr Baelish on a bed being taken care of by Sansa Stark.

The maester had previously cleaned him up a little and patched the wound, but it was now up to Sansa to wipe away the remaining blood off his body and close it. She had never stitched human skin together before, but she was the best with a needle so why not let her try?

After his skin was clean, she stretched her arm out to reach for the thread and needle on the end table. The candles on the end table cast a smooth light on Petyr’s face, and the flame reflected in his eyes as he asked her, “Why are you helping me?”

 “The Vale and House Arryn are our powerful allies,” she told him. “If you’re not there to look after it, what will happen to us?”

“You can’t honestly sit here, and tell me that’s the reason.”

“It’s the truth,” said Sansa.

“It also doesn’t make sense,” Petyr insisted. “House Arryn and the knights of the Vale would have still been loyal to you and your brother even if I weren’t present.”

Sansa gulped and looked towards the side. “You would have died,” she murmured so that he couldn’t hear her. But he did.  

“That’s not an answer,” he told her.

“You told me that the last time. Do you always disbelieve people when they say they are worried about you?”

Petyr smirked. “Only when I can tell they are lying.”

_It’s not a lie_ , she thought. _For someone who is so smart, you’re really stupid when it comes to this sort of thing._

But she didn’t dare say that to him. She had decided that after she was finished closing the wound, she would go, and she would sleep. It was already past nighttime. All of Winterfell was asleep save for them two. But she couldn’t be near him longer after that. Every time she was with him, she somehow felt timid and nervous and even a little powerless. Why she felt these feelings, she couldn’t explain. They were just there. And they felt even more present among her as she sat down beside him, tending to him, his body almost naked save for the sheet.

The first thing she noticed when they undressed him was the scar. A giant line stretching from his naval to his collarbone. She had heard rumors about it but was never much curious about it. Now that she had seen it though, to her shame, she wanted to trace her fingertips along it.

It took Petyr a while to finally realize he was naked as well. He had felt so warm, he hadn’t noticed. He saw Sansa’s eyes moving towards his chest, where the scar Robert Stark gave him was. “Don’t mind this,” he told her. “It’s an old wound that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“How did you get it?” she asked as she started to stitch him.

He smirked. “Believe it or not, I got it from a duel,” he said. Sansa revealed a half smile. She almost laughed actually. Petyr was conniving and manipulative but also little and slender so she couldn’t picture him _dueling_ per say. She did not speak this to him, though, and let him continue. “When I was a boy, I had grown up with your mother and aunt. We were very close. Grew up as siblings actually, but you know men and women. When they spend too much time together, feelings start to grow. New relationships blossom. I fell in love with your mother, as you know. I did everything for her, and we had our… moments. I thought she was in love with me as well.

Alas, it was not so. When your mother was to be married to your uncle, Robert Stark, I thought I could win her over with a duel. And why not? Like you, I was a dreamer. And idealist. If our feelings were true and the gods were good, I would have won. But the gods abandoned me. They didn’t even let me have a fighting chance. In a matter of seconds, I was on the ground, in the mercy of your late uncle. Back then, I was supposed to die. But Cat saved me. And I thought she did that because she loved me, but…

Your mother never loved me. ‘He’s just a boy,’ she said. And at that moment, I knew I was nothing more to her. I was hurt. All my ideals shattered. And everything felt dark and lonely. Even when Robert died, Cat still wouldn’t choose me. She married your father instead. And all I was left with was this scar that your uncle gave me before he left. A reminder of what I don’t have.”

Sansa was aware that her mother had some sort of relationship with him, but had no idea that they had done this to him. She was _angry_ actually. At her uncle. She had always been proud of her Stark blood, but she could not believe how cruel her uncle had been at a man simply for being in love. And her mother… well, she could never be angry with her mother. However, she was definitely jealous, she realized.

_Because Littlefi…. Petyr Baelish is in love with my mother_ , she thought.

She suddenly stood up. Her face was flushed, and she twirled her fingers together. _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself. _I knew this. Why am I getting like this now? I have to be strong. Littlefinger can’t be trusted. I just need to finish here really quickly and go_.

“Sansa,” Petyr whispered. His low voice flew into her ears like a cool breeze. Shivers went down her spine. She stared back down where his scar was. The previous desire returned, and a boldness took over. She sat back down, leaning in close. Her finger touched the top of his scar. Petyr just stared as she slowly glided her finger down the mark. All the way to the other end. The blanket was only a few short inches away from where the scar ended.

Petyr felt short of breath as she touched him and wondered if it was because of the fever he had. Sansa thought it was a weird feeling – the scar. She really couldn’t describe it besides the fact that it was a darker shade compared to the rest of his pale skin and was soft to the touch. Almost like touching a piece of cloth, she guessed.

And tomorrow, he would probably wake up with a new one. Her eyebrows creased upwards as she tilted her head down. Petyr did his best to sit up without aggravating his injury. Sansa leaned back. “No, you should be lying down,” she said, trying to push him back down, but Petyr resisted. He grabbed her wrist and pushed her hands away.

Once he was finally seated up, he grabbed hold of her face. His soft fingers gently placed on her cheeks. “I may have these on my body, but not all scars are visible, sweetling. Sometimes it’s the invisible ones that hurt the most.” He then remembered what she told him about Ramsey, and his fingers pressed a bit more firmly on her face. “So don’t feel sorry for me… _Sansa_.” He said her name softly.

Sansa’s heart was beating. It was so loud; she could hear it. It was always like this when he got this close. It would be the right thing to do to pull away. Wrap him up and go to sleep. Yet, she didn’t _want_ to get up. She didn’t want to move his hands from her face. It was wrong, but it felt so _good_ to be with him like this. How in the seven kingdoms could she have pulled away the last time but here not be able to do a thing? What power did she have the last time that she didn’t have now?

“Don’t…” she blurted out. “I’m not my mother.”

“I know,” he said. “But I still care for you.”

“That doesn’t mean you love me.”

She slowly touched his hands with hers and pulled them off her face. Her eyes shone in the candle light. It was ridiculous how emotional she was getting. Why? Why did this affect her? She didn’t cry about it before, but she felt her eyes becoming watery. Yet she would not cry. She refused to make herself vulnerable to Lord Baelish.

“You loved my mother,” she whispered in such a low voice. Her voice was almost gone.

“Yes, I _loved_ your mother,” Petyr confirmed. But then he grabbed hold of face again. More tightly this time with no intention of letting go. “Cat had a beauty of her own. Came from an impeccable blood line. But you, my love, aren’t Catelyn Stark. You are Sansa Stark of impeccable beauty, intelligence, and boldness that I have never thought to come across. I love _you_.”

She could hear the sweetness in his words but – no! He was lying again. Manipulating her so that he could control her. She couldn’t move his hands away so she kept wiggling her head away instead. To no avail however. “Don’t you remember what I told you?” he said. “The past is gone for good!”

Petyr looked at her face. Stared into her blue eyes. Beautiful and perfect. But then he eyed her body. He wondered about many bruises were still there thanks to that Bolton boy. If only he could make them disappear with just the touch of his hands. Sansa wasn’t wearing her usual Stark attire. She was dressed in a blue night gown.

He pulled her down towards the other end of the bed. He twisted around and held her wrist as he leaned over her. He gasped as the pain from his wound came, but he was determined to hear her. “Let me go,” she spat out.

“Is that what you want?” he asked. “You know what I want. But what about you? What do you want?”

Petyr’s hair was messy. His skin shiny. His eyes intense. He was devilishly handsome. Sansa closed her eyes and bit her lip, refusing to answer.

“If you want me to let you go, I will,” he said. “You can finish up and be on your way. Although, if you want me to kiss you, I will. If you want to just lay here, we can. But if you want me to make love to you, I’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

His slowly let go of one wrist. She wasn’t protesting yet.  He slid his hand down her arm to her shoulder. And from her should, his head rested on the top of her breast, slowly massaging it, which made her let out a light gasp. “What do you want?” he asked again.

Fuck! How did it get to this point? She was just supposed to be taking care of him. Now he was on his bed, and he was touching her like how Ramsay had touched her during their nights together. Except it wasn’t like Ramsay at all. Ramsay grabbed her like a dog. His hands digging into her skin like knives. But Lord Baelish fondled her boob as if it were… a jewel. Something that needed to be delicately handled.

Petyr was feeling excited as well. He could feel his manhood react and stand on its own, but he made sure he had that part of himself well hidden with his blanket. He wouldn’t let her see how much he wanted her. Her wanted her to choose.

He leaned in closer towards her neck. Took a sniff of her hair. Sansa could feel his breath on her neck. “You have such a such a lovely smell on you, sweetling.”

“I want…” began Sansa. Petyr rose his head, prepared to hear her answer. She couldn’t win. She sighed in defeat, admitting the words she refused to comprehend and accept. “I want you, Petyr. I want to be by your side. I want to kiss you. I want you to feel me and I you. I want you to love me as much as I love you.”

Petyr cast down a smile, which was a bit different from his other smiles. It wasn’t a conniving smile or a smile of amusement. It was a real and genuinely happy smile. “As you wish, my love. But you’re going to have to help me a bit,” he chuckled. “I’m not completely healed yet as you can tell.” And his lips slowly met with hers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... I put a lot of emotion to it. Lol, I hope you like it. Please leave a comment so I have an idea at how well I did writing this. I get so nervous writing fanfic to be honest ^^. But yeah, I had this desire to write a smex scene but this is rated M and not E and while writing the sexual tension between them was fun, I also wanted to focus more on that. Maybe I'll do another fanfic and have a nice smex scene in it xD
> 
> Anyway -- thanks for reading :D


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